


If I Never Lied, Then Baby You'd Be The Truth

by Pluppelina



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 11 hates himself, Blow Job, M/M, Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pluppelina/pseuds/Pluppelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy wants the Doctor to take her to a night club. The Doctor, against his better knowledge, consents and runs into someone he thought he had lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Never Lied, Then Baby You'd Be The Truth

When Amy insisted that she wanted to go somewhere on Earth in her own time, the Doctor had thought it a very reasonable idea. There would be zero chance of spoilers, he would get to fulfill one of her dreams, and quite possibly the universe wouldn’t even need saving, which as far as trips go is really all you can ask, isn’t it?

  
When Amy explained her idea further, the Doctor started to realize that perhaps, for him personally, a universe in need would be a better trip, but by then he had already said yes and besides, he wanted so desperately to impress her, to be good in her eyes as he could never be in his own. So, off they went, and that’s how the Doctor finds himself standing awkwardly in the middle of a very crowded night club in downtown New York, looking worriedly on as his companion does body shots off of a complete stranger.

  
“No-- Don’t--” he says, but she can’t hear him, so he adds under his breath, “You don’t know where that belly button’s been.”

  
She’s quite clearly a lost cause at that point, but she does appear to be having fun, so he decides to leave her alone. He might as well try to have a little fun himself, because if he doesn’t he’ll just wind up crying in the loo and really, as far as nights go, he can do better than that. This does after all bear a little semblance to both a 60’s orgy and an 80’s disco. Those were the times...

  
As he scans the room for his best point of approach, mind scheming up a plan quite unbidden, his eyes suddenly land on someone familiar and he has to do a double take. No. No, it can’t possibly be... _No_. Are they that many years off? Could that really be..? The Doctor blinks but it doesn’t help. He’s still looking at the man known as Harold Saxon, and not only him but his wife too, a gentle thing clinging to his arm. There are no wedding rings. This is before, then, during the time that the Doctor was unable to follow behind in his last reincarnation. Somehow, his own past body feels more foreign to him than that of his enemy. As much as he had tried to forget about the existence of this other time lord, it simply hadn’t been possible, and now, here he is again. The Doctor can’t help but curse because this, if anything, is going to restore his hope in happiness, and hope is the only way that remains for him to break his own hearts, and yet.... Yet, that is the Master, sitting right there, surrounded by all those humans who adore him and laugh as he speaks.

  
The Doctor is aware that he’s staring but he can’t help it. It’s as if all the air has been taken out of him and he can’t move. The Master’s stance subtly changes; he knows that he’s being watched, instinctively, just as they always do. He can probably sense that the Doctor is near, can probably feel their kinship right underneath his skin, and his eyes starts to wander, any minute now, they’ll look at each other and really _see_ and-- and the Master’s eyes travel right past him, moving on, and the Doctor realizes that the Master has never seen this face of his before, that of course he doesn’t recognize him _because he doesn’t know who he is anymore_.

  
Well, the Doctor thinks, at least there goes the heartbreak. Maybe now that that’s over with for the time being he can actually make a move of some sort. The only question is, how? If he remembers correctly, the Master at that time was a destructive force, and the Doctor hasn’t forgotten about his year-long imprisonment. Some last remnant of Stockholm Syndrome sticks its head out, quietly suggesting that maybe being taken captive again wouldn’t be so bad after all, but the Doctor pushes it away. Sure, he wasn’t lonely. Sure, he deserves both that and worse. But the world needs saving, and Amy... Amy might very well need some very specific saving before the night is over, herself. There are people who need him so the Doctor can’t give in to his own perverse needs to be restricted and kept by his only equal in the universe, no matter how much he wants it. What he can however have is this one night. It is what most everyone in there is looking for anyway, isn’t it? Just one night with a stranger to while away the loneliness. If they can have it, why shouldn’t the Doctor?

  
So he observes what’s going on around him, the way the humans court each other, because if he’s just a man who wants to take Harold Saxon to bed, he ought to behave like any other human who wanted to take Harold Saxon to bed would. They’re all moving, almost squirming on each other, grinding and bending at angles that frankly look rather uncomfortable. This isn’t the Doctor’s idea of what dancing ought to look like, and so, it probably isn’t dancing - it’s probably part of the mating ritual. He thinks that the Master, after having spent so much time among humans as Yana, ought to be at least somewhat familiar with this way of conduct, and so, he sets about moving.

  
He starts out slow and careful, hands above his head and hips wiggling as he moves closer to the place the Master is sat. The desired space between the wooer and the prospective mate seems to be as little as possible, but the Doctor has a feeling that he’ll have to be a little less aggressive at first if he is to be successful; it only seems polite. Therefore he stops when he feels that he is in good viewing distance and yet not close enough to be completely obvious, just in case. Just in case what he isn’t completely sure, but the eyes of the Master’s future wife makes him a little uncomfortable. He seems to have caught her attention more than the one he actually wants, but he’ll just have to wait it out; the worst thing that could possibly happen is that she’ll hit him with her purse, and really, he’s had worse.

  
Now that he’s in place, he decides to get a little bolder - there is a woman a very little distance away, fully occupied with sliding up and down another man, and the Doctor thinks that he could possibly accomplish the moves she’s doing - bend at the waist, go much too low, wiggle the bottom, and then up again. The Doctor has never felt this silly for as long as he can remember, and that’s saying something, but since everyone else also looks completely ridiculous that’s probably the way it is to be done. He goes back to the calmer, slower movement for a while in favour of eye contact, and the Master, who has been alerted to the scene by Lucy, easily gives it to him. Good. The Doctor tries to wiggle an eyebrow suggestively, something he saw in a movie once, and is met with a self-satisfied smirk that makes his hearts flutter. He’s got to be doing something right then, if he can make the Master take note of his interest - because that face says nothing if not “oh, well, of course you want me, darling”. Maybe the Doctor needs to try harder, so he turns around so that his back is towards the Master and continues to move his behind in a sense that makes him feel like he’s exposing himself completely. He blushes from the shamelessness of it, from the utter desperation, but let’s face it - he is pretty desperate and this seems to be his best shot if not his _only_ shot. He’s already seen that body die twice, and here he is, given the opportunity of one last meeting. He isn’t going to throw that chance away because he has to do something _embarrassing_.

  
As he turns back around again, feeling that it’s probably time to change his move, the Master is no longer there. The only thing he’s facing is the judging eyes of the blond woman.

  
He stops completely dead as a cold dread starts to spread out through him - where, exactly, did he go wrong? - but almost as soon as he does there are hands on his hips that start to move them for him.

  
“Nono, don’t stop on her account, darling...” an amused voice half-yells in his ear, at as low a volume as can be accomplished under the loud music. “She’s not important.”

  
Half-turning, the Doctor sees him, right there, so close, great sense of relief; yes, here, and then he comes closer still and that’s definite grinding, that is, and if it isn’t mating then it’s damn well borderline. He can’t help but moan and almost brings a hand up to his mouth to catch it as it falls out - it’s been so long since someone made him feel this way that it feels strange.

  
“Come on, love - show me what else you’ve got.”

  
So the Doctor does, imitating every last absurd move he’s ever seen anyone make at a man they wanted to catch the attention and affection of - legs spreading, bum waggling, hips and shoulders rolling, tongue sticking out and on one occasion even into the Master’s ear. He’s not sure exactly why this is supposed to be sexy, but apparently it is, as the Master’s hands squeeze down over his ass at that very moment.

  
“I really do mean a lot to you, don’t I,” the Master murmurs, and the Doctor almost only catches it because he’s lip-reading. He nods in reply, wishing nothing more than that they could be themselves so that he could let the other time lord know _exactly_ how much he means to him, but he can’t, because it might change the Master’s future, which is now the past already, and he couldn’t risk a time paradox for something as selfish as telling someone he loves them. 

  
The Master grinds their erections together, right through suit and jeans and underwear and the Doctor moans at the contact, but it's bitter sweet because he wishes he could have more, all those things that he's never going to get because he's flirting with his past now. He wishes the Master would abuse him to punish him for burning Gallifrey, and he wishes they could be tangled together in the soft sheets of a bed that belongs to neither of them like when they were teens and the future was still bright and theirs, and he wishes he could have the Master so deep inside of him he couldn’t possibly think about how much he hates himself, and he wishes that the Master would put his cock inside of his mouth and moan so that the Doctor could feel like he isn't _completely_ worthless, and then he moans again, because he needs the Master like he’s never needed anyone in his entire existence before and even though the Doctor has lost him he’s _right there_.

  
“Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked?” the Master hisses and the Doctor says “yes” without hesitation, yes, ridiculous, ridiculous and silly and not important, but it doesn’t matter, because then the Master’s mouth is on his, in his, consuming him, and he can focus on that - being consumed is so much better than consuming, being taken so much better than to take,  and when the Master bites his lips, being hurt feels so much better than hurting does. He can already feel himself melting into the other and a breathy “please” is moaned into the kiss.

  
“How could I ever refuse you?” the Master asks. “I owe you all of this, after all... I couldn’t have done it without your TARDIS.”

  
The Doctor wants to ask “how long” but he knows even before he’s opened his mouth that the answer is “all along” and it makes him feel so good, oh so good, that the Master decided to play with him, because a play thing could never be dangerous, and even if he happens to have the blood of 900 years and entire species on his hands, for just this moment he can pay for all of his sins if he plays his cards right. The Doctor sinks down on his knees, and the Master doesn’t tell him to wait or to stop or that someone might see them, a thought that has barely even crossed the Doctor’s mind anyway, because in this tight crush of bodies they could only be spotted if someone really wanted to see them - and somehow, the Doctor feels that Lucy Saxon can watch to her heart’s content.

  
He undoes the Master’s belt and fly and the trousers, no doubt tailored to fit perfectly, stay right where they are except for the little V that reveals black underwear. The Doctor moves those out of the way, too, and has barely done it when the Master’s hand on his head pushes him forward. He’s too eager, both of them are, and so the Master’s dick misses his mouth and leaves a smear of pre-come over the Doctor’s cheek, something that makes them both moan loudly, and then another try and there it is, now, the taste and scent that never change, no matter which body the Master is in, and the Doctor’s Pavlovian response is to start swallowing. This body has a very excellent gag reflex, and he can’t get any air and that feels so good, to inflict something his mind wants on his body in a way that makes him hurt, something that the Master wants that makes him hurt, so he keeps gagging to pay back his dept to a race he exterminated a little at a time, to beg the forgiveness of a long-lost best friend in the only way he’s allowed, and it’s like praying when he moves his tongue over the Master, up and down, slowly, faster, faster, faster, the hand on his head says faster, and he can’t swallow all of his saliva with a dick in his throat so it starts to flow down his chin and he can feel it against the Master’s balls and it’s all so obscene he can’t take it anymore. His hand flies to his own erection without any conscious thought, rubbing it through his trousers because he doesn’t have the patience nor the ability to get them out of the way right then. He gets to have a few perfect moments like that, where he is nothing but a mouth around a cock, two throbbing hearts and so much desire, until suddenly his head is torn away from the Master’s body, from the contact, and he’s faced with the Master’s other hand rubbing himself, quick and precise, and he looks up at the Master who looks down at him, the desperation in his eyes, the drool on his face, the pleas on his lips and the hand between his legs, and the sight is what makes the Master come and the knowledge that _he_ did that has the Doctor following him over the edge almost immediately.

  
There is a moment of stillness and peace, a moment during which the Doctor feels alright, during which everything is okay for the first time in so long, and then the hand in his hair lets go. The others keep dancing and the music keeps playing as if nothing ever happened as he falls over completely, forehead against the floor and one wet hand trapped between his stomach and his thighs. He looks up the second after, and as the realisation of what just happened is coupled with the sight of the Master walking away to his death, the Doctor starts to weep, because he already knows that this feeling is something that is never, ever going to happen to him again.


End file.
